


Ain't Nothing But a Hound Dog

by misura



Category: American Dragons (1998)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, Drunkenness, Karaoke, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1831381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kim's expression cleared. "Ah. Elvis is the king! I understand. I think."</p>
<p>"And you're Elvis!" Tony said. He really did like Kim a lot, he realized, and also: his pants were still uncomfortably tight, which was not Kim's fault for doing that thing with his hips - that was all Elvis, baby, and Tony'd sure never gotten a boner watching Elvis or anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't Nothing But a Hound Dog

_Back home, they call me Elvis,_ Kim had said, and Tony'd figured he was bragging - probably weren't that many people in Korea who spoke proper English, anyway, so the competition for that particular title'd likely be slim: not too hard to get people comparing you to the King when it was the only word in English they knew the meaning of.

Thus when Kim climbed onto the stage, Tony figured he wasn't going to be getting blown away or anything. At best, Kim'd be decent - in which case Tony'd tell him he'd been absolutely fucking awful, after; at worst, he'd be actively bad, in which case Tony'd slap his back and call him 'Mr The King, sir' after, because they were buddies now, and that was what buddies did for each other.

(Well, that was what buddies did in America, anyway. Might be, they did things differently in Korea, in which case, Kim'd just have to go and suck it up, because Tony sure didn't feel up to another fight right now; for a guy in a suit'n'tie combo, Kim packed a pretty mean punch.)

And then the machine started warbling out the sweet, sweet opening to 'Are You Lonesome Tonight?', and Tony realized he'd been wrong.

 

"You're the fucking _King_ , man," Tony said. He vaguely remembered saying it before, but so what? It was still true. Besides, that had been at least five drinks ago, and everyone knew alcohol messed with your memory.

Kim looked smug. Tony'd have found it annoying, except that (1) he was drunk and (2) it was totally fucking justified, so. "Better than the king. I am Elvis." He struck a pose that was definitely not Elvis. More, like, Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, which wasn't really Tony's thing, but whatever.

"Yeah, yeah, that's what I said," Tony said, before he realized that yeah. Korean. "Same guy, man! Same guy."

"Elvis was a king?" Kim asked, looking confused. "I thought you had presidents in America."

"Yeah," Tony said, which he figured, okay, not very helpful. "It's a - whatchamacallit? Figure of speech."

Kim's expression cleared. "Ah. Elvis is the king! I understand. I think."

"And you're Elvis!" Tony said. He really did like Kim a lot, he realized, and also: his pants were still uncomfortably tight, which was not Kim's fault for doing that thing with his hips - that was all Elvis, baby, and Tony'd sure never gotten a boner watching Elvis or anything so.

So he should probably say something vaguely offensive now, pop Kim's bubble a little.

"I'm the king!" Kim said, looking very fucking pleased with himself.

"Yeah," Tony said, which wasn't exactly going to crush Kim's ego or anything. "Yeah. You are."

Kim laughed a little. "I think we are both very drunk. Drunk like kings."

Tony considered pointing out that was not actually an expression - well, not in English, anyway, but then he realized what a perfect opportunity it was. "You're the one who's drunk. I'm just fine."

"Really?" Kim blinked at him owlishly, then held up his hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

The good old finger trick. Although Tony did notice Kim wasn't doing it quite right - traditionally, you only stuck up one finger. (Hint: it wasn't your thumb.)

Tony squinted a little and finally guessed, "Three?"

Kim stared at him own hand and frowned.

Tony laughed; this round was definitely for him. His pants were feeling more comfortable, too. "Come on, Mr King, sir - time to go home. Busy day tomorrow."

"Always busy days," Kim said, getting up and promptly falling over. "Whoa."

Tony laughed again, until he noticed the way Kim's pants looked from behind when he was bent over a table. (Well, not really 'bent over'. And it wasn't as if he noticed as a whole. More, like, a part of him noticed. Not a small part, as such, except when you compared it to, say, his arm or something.)

Kim managed to get vertical again and stay that way this time.

"Got a couch you can crash on," Tony said. "And a washing machine." Kim didn't look like the kind of guy who'd want to show up for work in a smelly suit.

"You're going to let me crash in your washing machine?" Kim asked.

"Funny," Tony said, wagging his finger at Kim. "You're a funny guy."

 

The first thing Tony noticed when he woke up the next morning was that his head hurt. Also, his mouth tasted like something'd crawled in it and then died, and his blanket felt really warm, really soft and really ... heavy?

Fine, scratch that: the second thing Tony noticed, being a cop and smart and everything, and maybe a little bit hung-over, was that he wasn't alone. There was someone lying on top of him. Someone alive, happily; it might be a bit awkward for a short while, but it still very much beat the alternative.

It wasn't exactly usual, but he'd been very drunk last night, and (might as well admit it, just to himself and in hindsight) really fucking turned on by Korean Elvis.

So he'd found some girl who'd been about as drunk as he'd been himself, seeing as how he'd managed to talk her into going home with him and everything - and with Kim in tow, too.

Tony knew he could be slick when he tried, but whoa. Some really fucking bad judgment on her part right there; he should probably sit her down for a good talk about that. There were some pretty bad people in this city; she'd just gotten lucky last night. Next time, it she might not be so lucky.

"Good morning," Kim said, from way, way too fucking close. 'Practically breathing into Tony's ear' close.

Tony did what any guy would've done: he shrieked like a girl.

Then he closed his eyes, told himself he was just having a bad dream, and went back to sleep.

 

"So," Tony said, maybe fifteen minutes and one cup of very black coffee later. "Last night was fun."

He'd woken up alone, which had been a relief, and to the smell of coffee, which was awesome.

"Fun?" Kim asked. "In Korea, when you take someone home and then fall asleep on them, it is not considered 'fun'."

So much for feeling relieved. "I was very drunk," Tony said. "Give me a fucking break, all right? I didn't know what the fuck I was doing."

"Ah," Kim said, his expression brightening. "I see. You are - what is your expression again? A two-beer queer. I understand. You should have mentioned this earlier. Probably before your second beer."

Tony's brains sucked up the coffee and vividly drew up two possible futures for him. In one of them, he said that _yeah, two-beer queer, exactly, but don't tell the guys at work, okay?_ which would be fine, probably; most people at the precinct seemed barely even aware Kim spoke English.

In the other, he might get to tap that ass he'd seen last night.

Easy choice, really.


End file.
